Always, from the very beginning, he repeated, the Bridge of Light had been there--had not the Mayas crossed it when they had first entered the valley? And that it had some connection with the flames from the temple summit he felt sure, for always these rose, like banners against the sky, when the bridge spanned the chasm and vanished as the bridge vanished. Also, he felt sure, the high-priest knew the secret of the bridge--might even control it--but no one other than the Kinchi Haman himself was permitted within the innermost sacred precincts of the temple where dwelt the “Monster of Sacrifices,” and so no one had ever learned the secret of the marvelous bridge. Even the sorcerer’s ability to read the past and future, even his almost miraculous uncanny powers, had not enabled him to learn this secret of the high-priest. “And what?” I asked him, “is this Monster of Sacrifices? Is he beast or man? I have vowed to destroy the thing and I would know more of it.” “That, my son, Itzimin, I cannot say,” replied the old sorcerer. “Even when our fathers’ fathers’ fathers came unto Mictolan, a temple stood above the place and, so our legends say and so I heard from the priests who came hither and entered the temple, the monster dwelt therein and was tended by an ancient priest of another race more ancient than the Kitche Maya. It was his people who had made the great statue at the door of the Cave of the Bats; the mummies of his kings were those within that cave; his people had erected the temple, but he alone of all his race remained. To the high priest of Kinich Ahau he revealed all he knew--to him he delegated the care of the sacred Monster--and to him, no doubt, he imparted the secret of the Bridge of Light. That, my son, is all I know. Even my knowledge, my powers, cannot pierce the walls and unmask the secrets hidden in the inner temple of the Kinich Ahau, God of Light and Life. To attempt to do so would be sacrilege, would bring down the wrath of the gods.” I smiled inwardly at the old fellow’s psychology as related to his religion. “And yet,” I reminded him, “you have no love for Kinchi Haman, you would humiliate him, destroy him. You deceive him by making him believe me a son of Kukulcan. Is that not also sacrilege?” Nohul Voh shook his great white mane. “Nay, my son, the Kinchi Haman is but a man like ourselves. Outside his office he is an ordinary mortal--a most vindictive, cruel, undesirable mortal--and it is as a mortal I hate and despise him. But within the sacred precincts of his temple I would not raise my hand to do him harm.” “And,” I persisted, “if Kinchi Haman should die--as die he must--or should be destroyed, who, O, Nohul Voh, would take his place?”